Author's Note: Thank you guys, for all the feedback last chapter. I knew a lot of you would be happy to finally see Molly. Not only did I get nice comments, I also got a few interesting points of views and notes along with it, which is always helpful when framed as nicely as most of you do! As you can see from the length of this chapter, I'm starting to improve a bit. The pain is subsiding very slowly, but it is, and the exercises are getting easier. This chapter got a bit away from me. It was a small spark that became bigger than I wanted it to be, which is not necessarily a bad thing. So please, guys; read, review, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Sherlock. The show is the baby of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

Her First Exposed Pressure Point

As Anthea was leaving the government office, typing on her blackberry, a man almost ran right into her. He made a startled noise and Anthea blinked up from her screen, frowning. The man was Mr. Richter. James and Carol's immediate voice and once a very, very skill MI6 agent if the rumours, and Walter, were to be believed. The raven haired man with grey sides and small green eyes, was rather bulky. Once upon a time he'd been built like a tank, and fast. He was still fast, he was still strong, however most of his muscle mass now hid under a layer of fat. If you've ever heard of a strong fat man, that was Richter. Six foot tall and wide, he was like a brick wall and just as intimidating. It should be noted that this was the man James had accidentally called 'cupcake'. Apparently the other agents had begun a bet on James' life after that.

As he recovered from almost running Anthea over, he placed a large bear like hand on Anthea's small shoulder.

"A, didn't see you there." Anthea pursed her lips, but shook her head dismissing him as she put her phone away.

"Apology accepter, Richter." She gave him her small, wry, work smile. The man didn't smile, he never did, but he made a weird snort noise that Anthea recognised as his laugh. That was the closest you'd get to a laugh.

"Look, girl, maybe you can help me out. I was looking for your boss, but you'd do fine." His deep voice had a rasp to it, that if you tried to copy it you'd only scratch your throat up badly.

"Oh." Anthea rose her eyebrows. "Well, I know where he is. I could try and contact him if you like, sir." She shrugged lightly. The man shook his head.

"Nah, leave the old boy to his work. If I interrupt him he'll just take James for a week out of spite." Anthea pretended to chuckle. They both knew it was true. "You're the second best around here anyway. Carol brags about how you run circles around the stuffed shirts." Well… She didn't know about that. Anthea's sly smile pulled slightly larger as she waved him off.

"I'm kind of busy, myself, sir. How long would you need me for?"

"Ah, I just need one of you lot to come look at a location before I start tearing it to pieces. A Moriarty styled hole that looks like one of his rats has still been living in. An hour, tops." Anthea sighed and looked down the hallway at the row of doors. She was busy, she had to go collect some signed contracts around London, and then meet Mycroft at the club for a very quiet meeting before going to pick someone up for him. Still, if this was a Moriarty location, even with his death, this took priority. It could be valuable to Sherlock's current… adventure… after all.

"Alright, but only an hour." She huffed. The skyscraper of a man made that weird snort again and patted Anthea on the back so hard she felt herself tip forward slightly.

"You're a good worker, A. I need some of you."

An abandoned house in the middle of a normal street. That fitted some of Moriarty's previous boat holes. Almost too well, so much so that Anthea could smell that this was most likely the work of a copycat. The house was double story – typical – and white – as to go unnoticed. The whole front of the building looked neat and kept well, the only sign of disrepair being the yellow, foggy look to the bay window. Anthea folded her arms across her chest as she examined it all, an eyebrow quirked. The potted plants on the front step were a nice little touch.

"This is too perfect, Ritch." Anthea hummed suspiciously. The man besides her, who had struggled to get out of his car smoothly, growled in agreement.

"I said that to the men who sent me the photos." His voice grumbled, sounding to Anthea like a cement mixer. "We still need to check it out, and we need a sign of from Holmes' office to do so." Anthea sniffed a single laugh as she continued to catalogue everything, occasionally taking a photo with her blackberry. She walked up the steps and knelt to look at the plant with the white flowers.

"Protocol. I get you." She took a photo of the plant. Richter followed her up the stairs and headed through the door. Generally his men followed him, and since she was the only one here – though she didn't work with him and probably technically outranked him – Anthea followed behind him.

Again, typical. Scratches in the wall where wallpaper had been ripped down – as plans had probably been written on them, bullet holes in the room, a decent couch, and random abandoned pieces of technology. Anthea even spied a fax machine. That was odd.

But it was clean. Way too clean.

How did Anthea know that?

As soon as she stepped into the kitchen the smell of bleach assaulted her sense. She winced, and pulled her head away. She instantly felt like throwing up and running out the door. Ever since her kidnapping, since the white tiled room with the bleach cleaning away all the blood, she couldn't clean her bathroom with anything that wasn't scented. She was also thankful her bathroom wasn't completely white. Anthea dug her heels into the slate floor and stood her ground. She pulled down the sleeve of her coat to cover her hand, then brought that hand up to cover her nose and mouth.

"That's pungent." She moaned, feeling the taste invade her mouth as she spoke, wincing once again. The bear patted her on the back again.

"It's stronger in the laundry room, and guess where I need you to go?" Anthea turned to look up at Richter right in his eyes, as green as the leaves on a gumtree. Anthea turned to stare down through the kitchen, where she could see the door to tiny, dark, little laundry with tiles from ceiling to floor. Anthea groaned as shook her head slowly.

"Why?" She bemoaned. "What could possibly be in there, sir?" Her hand pressed against her nose harder. Richter made another deep growl, and this time Anthea thought it might have been a hum.

"It might be bombs." Anthea's head whipped up to meet Richter.

"Might be?" She repeated at a much higher decibel. He nodded solemnly.

"We know for sure two of them are inactive bombs. The two others aren't anything we have on file but my men inform me they shouldn't be active…"

The silence hung in the air.

"But…" Anthea implored the man to continue.

"But… Don't have your phone on in there. It starts beeping then." Anthea shut her eyes as she felt her stomach drop. Of course, there's always a catch. She pulled out her blackberry and switched it off before shoving it in her bag again with a huff.

"What else?"

"Got an iPad on you? Laptop? Anything with Wi-Fi or radio?"

"No." She was speaking low and short.

"You're all set to check it out." Anthea hesitated as her the fingernails of the hand not covering her mouth dug into her palm.

"Great. Thanks, sir." Sarcasm, her defence mechanism. Slowly, the girl trudged across the kitchen slate floor into the tiled space of the miniscule laundry room.

The smell of bleach in this room was incomprehensible. It was enough to make a normal person cough out of dislike, and enough to make Anthea's stomach churn. She felt her heart rate increase as the smell stung her eyes. Still, she tried her best to keep a cool exterior and breathe through the bubbling emotions. Just focus on work, she tried to tell herself, and then she could get out of this quickly.

The two inactive bombs were more than just deactivated. One was in pieces on top of the top-loader washing machine – as if someone had been dismantling it for parts needed for the other one. The other one was a mismatch of different pieces of technology welded together. A large hole remained where the LCD display should be placed. That was enough to be suspicious – Moriarty had contacts – he didn't have to rely on people making homemade explosives that didn't work. Mind you, this could have been someone he'd hired for one reason or another. It still stunk enough to get through the smell of the bleach and set alarm bells off in her head.

"This doesn't look right." She called out to the old agent, still eyeing all the pieces strewn about. In the sink was one of the bombs that must have been working. It clearly wasn't activated, that much was clear, but it must have been usable. It looked as if it were being tested to see if it were waterproof. Probably wasn't a large explosion then. Enough to blow up the sink and that's it most likely. It certainly didn't fit in with the handmade bomb, it seemed to be the work of someone smarter than that.

Then, through the door in the small, tiny room just for the toilet, was the other one. Sitting on top of the closed toilet lid was a fascinating looking machine. Currently a green light lit up on the side of the display. Multiple other lights were off underneath the green one, and a few buttons. There also seemed to be a key slot. This wasn't a bomb, this was an activation switch. Richter would know better than that, than to think this was a bomb. It might be for one of the bombs in this room or somewhere hidden, but it certainly wasn't an explosive itself. Anthea crouched to look closer without so much as a hair touching it.

"Richter, you know what this is, right?"

No answer.

Anthea frowned.

"Agent Richter?"

Slam.

Click.

Latch.

Anthea's whole being lit up as she jumped to her feet and scrambled into the laundry. The laundry door had been closed. She tried to turn the doorknob and found it unmoving.

Locked.

"Richter?" She called out louder as she tugged and pushed on the door. It didn't budge a millimetre. Anthea felt her racing heart climbing into her throat as she realised she'd been locked in this room.

"AGENT RICHTER!" Anthea slammed her fist against the door until the side of her hand began to sting and turn read. "Damn it!" She kicked the door.

Anthea had known this stunk, it had just seemed wrong. She was set up. But Richter? The old agent? That was someone she'd never expect to betrayal. He loved his country more than anything.

Oh God, she was stuck in here.

Anthea leaned on the door, her breathing rate increasing by the second. She felt her whole being tightening and wrapped up in anxiety. A panic attack was coming on and she didn't know what to do. She couldn't be stuck like this again. Not in a room that smelt to high heaven of bleach.

Images of bloodstained tiles flashed in her head, the ache in her wrists where they were once tied up felt as real as it had been then.

"No. no no no no no." Anthea panicked, shaking out her hands. She paced in the small space. "Come on, keep your head. Come one." Her eyes flashed around the room sporadically as she just tried to think.

Of course! How could she be so stupid? Anthea pulled out the leather pouch from her handbag that contained her simple lock picking set. The girl leant on the floor near the lock of the door. She tried her best to steady her hands as she worked.

Click.

"YES!" Anthea got to her feet and yanked on the door.

The doorknob turned but the door was still as stuck as it had been previously.

"Oh, come on!" Anthea cried as she kicked the door hard. "What is it?" She yelled. "A dead lock? Maybe one of those chains too? A security code? WHAT" She slammed her hand into the door before laying her head against the wood in exasperation.

She remembers being held tightly at the throat, and spitting blood. She remembers all her silence and sarcasm getting her into more trouble. She remembers crying when James called her a sight for sore eyes.

"I can't do this again." She whimpered. "I can't do this." If everything else had been fake, if everything else had been falsified and set up to look like a Moriarty base, then what if everything was a lie? Anthea bit the inside of her lip as she thought. Well, then, the whole technology thing was probably fake. Stepping into the centre of the small space, Anthea pulled out her phone. Taking a calming breath, trying to ignore how the smell stung her throat and made her feel dizzy, Anthea pressed the on button. She watched as the blackberry logo flashed up.

Beep.

Beep.

What?

Beep.

Anthea's eyes scanned the room. On its spot on top of the toilet, the detonator had light up, certain lights flashing, all but one on.

Beep.

The screen displayed a seven.

"Oh shit! No. no no." Anthea's fingers shakily held the off button.

Beep.

Six.

'Hurry, hurry."

Closing all apps.

Beep.

Five.

"I haven't even opened anything yet. Hurry."

Beep.

Four.

Anthea's heart vibrations made her feel like her whole body was shaking.

"Turn off!"

Beep.

Three.

The screen on the blackberry goes dark. The beeping stops. The machine seems to reset and go back to its dormant state.

Anthea crumpled up on the floor. Leaning against the washing machine, she placed her palms against her eyes. That had been close ridiculously close. Even if the bomb wasn't here, in this house let alone the room, it could be anywhere. Anthea was almost responsible for the murder of innocents. As she took a deep breath, her exhale came out sounding like a sob.

"I can't do this." Her voice shook. "I can't. Not again."

She remembers the taste of rust and metal in her mouth as she lost count of the days. She remembers yearning to just rest her head on the cool floor. She remembers being strong for her work.

Anthea took another breath as she leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling.

"It's okay." She pouted and shook her head. "At least this time it's just you."

Her phone had been on in this location.

Someone will come and get her.

Please.

"Come on, Myc. Hurry."

However long later it was, Anthea was too lost trying to hold herself together to notice the time go by, the door began to creak and click. Antea looked up from her place on the floor in time to see the door be pulled open with Walter at the helm, and Mycroft besides him. Quickly as lightly, Anthea scrambled on to her feet.

"Mycroft." She yelped as she ran past Walter, straight to Mycroft, wrapping herself around him, burying her head into his chest. As it always seems to go, at first the man froze and was rigid before a hand was placed on her back, rubbing in a small circular motion. Anthea took deep breaths, eyes shut, as she let the beating of Mycroft's heart calm her down and bring her back from her memories.

"Anthea." He spoke quietly, concern touching the edges. "Are you alright?" Anthea pulled tighter into the tall brunette man.

"Agent Richter." She responded, the side of her face still pressed against his chest. The hand on her back stopped moving. "He brought me here saying it was a Moriarty base or something."

"Richter?" Mycroft asked. Anthea nodded. She heard Walter shuffle behind her, followed by his footsteps in the tiled room.

"But it just didn't look right. And the smell. He locked me in there. With that smell, Mycroft." The circular motion on her back continued.

"Yes, yes, I know, my dear, but are you alright?" He gently pulled her away to arms lengths so he could look her in the eyes. Anthea sniffed as she smiled and nodded.

"Not a hair out of place, I promise. I just. The images and the smells." Mycroft's eyes flickered behind her. Anthea turned around to see that he and Walter were giving each other a knowing look. Anthea had never seen Walter's mouth in such a firm set line, his jaw tight.

"Fake?" Mycroft asked.

"Fake." The older man nodded. Anthea looked between them.

"But why? Who?" She asked. Walter stepped forward, placing an arm across Anthea's shoulders.

"I think you two can talk about that later, Miss James." He squeezed lightly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get you out of the smell."

A pause.

Anthea nodded.

"Okay. Good idea, Walter."

"Thank you, Miss James."

The three of them walked through the kitchen, out to the main room, and to the front door. Anthea had Walter by her side and Mycroft walking only a step behind her. It felt stupid, nothing had really gone wrong. She was fine. She was fine. But it still felt nice.

As they exited the house, they were met with the site of Charles Augustus Magnussen, leaning on the hood of the town car. Once again, though there was no wind, Anthea felt herself go icy cold to the point of freezing over. She steeled her face not to give away anything she was feeling as Walter pulled her closer to him. Mycroft stepped around his driver and assistant and walked down the steps, past the flowers, to stop about a metre away from Magnussen. Both men stayed put, Magnussen leaning casually on the car without a care in the world, Mycroft strong and stoic in place – not giving out a single piece of information on himself. Mycroft cleared his throat and twisted his umbrella into the crack in the cement to his right.

"Charles." His voice neutral and polite. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?" Though they could not see his face from here, Anthea could visualise Mycroft's steel eyes digging into the ice of Magnussen. Magnussen clapped his hands together and chuckled.

"It's your job to suspect such occurrences, is it not, Mycroft?" His smile made your skin want to crawl. It was like someone walking across your grave. Mycroft scoffed, and Anthea knew precisely which fake smile just came onto his bored face.

"Perhaps I should rephrase." He hummed. The umbrella tapped the ground directly in front of him. "I suspect I already know the answer, but I might as well ask. What are you doing here, Charles?" Magnussen look down as he took off his glasses to clean them. As he placed them back on his nose, adjusting the placement slightly, his almost colourless eyes took in the look of Walter and Anthea.

"Miss James." He stood off the car and took a step forward. "Only Mycroft and his driver. I don't know whether you should be flattered at the personal touch, or offended by the lack of man power." He chuckled at the end of the sentence, flashing a smile to the sneering Mycroft. Anthea chose not to answer, she didn't know how her words would come out right now. Instead she gave the man a venomous smile. Magnussen turned back to face Mycroft. "Funny thing about your little assistant, Mycroft." His hands found their way onto Mycroft's tie as it adjusted it and neatened it. Mycroft didn't so much as flinch, nor did his harsh eyes move from Magnussen's face. "She doesn't exist. You've done a very good job at covering up whoever she is." He patted Mycroft's lapel before folding his hands together in front of him. "I had to utilise other means to find her pressure points." Anthea's skin came up in Goosebumps as she found herself glaring, willing her heart not to thump away and give her true feeling away. Walter's hand held her close. "There was a very interesting case file involving a kidnap and rescue. Not something one truly recovers from, is it?" Mycroft's hand tightened around the handle of his trusty umbrella as it continued to dig into the ground, as if it were supporting him.

"This connection, this thread you have connected from my agents to my assistant, Charles." Mycroft hissed dangerously. "Rest assured that it'll take me a fraction of time to snip it as it took for you to weave it." Magnussen cocked his head to the side and chuckled.

"I was aware of that, Mr. Holmes. I wouldn't waste a valuable favour for such a test, heavens no. Snip away, it won't change the balance of power." He looked Mycroft up and down, before looking up to Walter and Anthea and nodding. "Enjoy the rest of your day." And he waltzed away as if it were just a casual conversation on the street. Mycroft did not move from his position. The only sign that he was thinking and not completely iced over was the slow twisting of the umbrella into the crack of the cement.

"Sir?" Walter asked, not moving either.

A pause.

"Let's go, Walter."

"Yes, sir."

By the time they'd arrived at her flat, Anthea almost felt completely normal again. Her breath was steady, her heart rate back to normal – all that remained was a faint shaking in her hands. Anthea felt like she could have easily gone back to the office and filed all the necessary paperwork and complaints about the whole thing now, but Mycroft insisted that it could wait until tomorrow. He also insisted on walking her up to her flat. Not the front door of the building, right up to her flat. Anthea had told him about ten times on the way up that she was fine and didn't need his help, and he'd say he knew that, and yet he continued to walk up with her. Seriously, Anthea was fine. She didn't need any help, she was breathing fresh air and was fine. Really. It was nice, though, to feel the comfort of someone you trusted so much right by your side. To have his silent strength making sure you were really as well as you claimed to be.

With shaky hands it took Anthea a little longer than usual to get her key in the door and unlock it. She chose to ignore the raised eyebrow Mycroft gave her as she struggled slightly with the task. She was completely fine, just a little shaken. Anthea deposited of her handbag and briefcase on the dining table as she and Mycroft walked through the makeshift dining room into the living space proper. The boxes were in the appropriate places now, allowing for safe walking through the flat. Jamie had taken the liberty to put up a couple of her photos here are then along with Anthea's. Anthea stretched her back and huffed as Mycroft picked up a photo of Jamie's family and examined it with his bored look in place.

"Do you want a coffee or something?" Anthea asked, her hand still shaking as she pushed her hair behind her ear. Mycroft placed the photo down and turned to answer Anthea. He stopped when a noise was heard from the bathroom.

"Hey, I didn't expect you home so soon." The chipper voice of Jamie rang out down the hallway. She entered the room, her hair was tied back in a ponytail except for some of the very front. "So I was thinking about cutting bangs, and –" She stopped midsentence as her hazel eyes fell onto Mycroft.

"Oh." She half nodded as she poute3d her lips. "Hi, Einstein. It's been a while."

"Miss Thompson." Mycroft droned. "Always a pleasure." Jamie snorted once, mouth pulling back into an easy smile. She looked over at her best friend and frowned once more, taking a few steps further into the room.

"Ali, you're shaking. Are you okay?" Anthea quickly folded her arms across her chest to hide her hands. She laughed and shook her head.

"I'm fine, Jay. Just one of those days at work. Don't worry," She beamed. "I'm in one piece." Mycroft and Jamie exchanged a look very similar to the one Walter and he had shared. Anthea wasn't fond of these silent conversation.

"Miss Clarke, I should be leaving." Mycroft faked a smile.

"Why?" It had come out quicker, and more urgent than she'd realised as Anthea dropped her hands to her side again.

A pause as Jamie watched Mycroft and Anthea staring at each other.

"You said you were fine, and I have work to do regarding today."

"Oh." Anthea nodded and waved Mycroft off. "Yeah, no. I'm fine. Go." Jamie pulled a face.

"H-Hey," The blonde winced as she hesitated. "Look, Mycroft. I was just about to go pick up some dinner or something." She scratched the tip of her nose. "Why don't you stay here with Ali while I go get it, make sure she doesn't shake out of her skin? Then I'll get food for all three of us and you can leave after dinner, yeah?" Mycroft scanned Jamie, looking her up and down from head to toe, making his deductions. Slowly he turned to look at his assistant again.

"If that is what you would like, Miss Clarke." Anthea shrugged.

"Sure. I mean, I'm fine, but it'll save you from having to find food later." It sounded terribly awkward. Mycroft pursed his lips.

"Very well." He nodded. Jamie rolled her eyes and shook her head. She used both thumbs to gesture behind her shoulder.

"I'm just going to grab my wallet and leave."

"Before you do, Miss Thompson." Mycroft halted the blonde.

"If you speak to James tonight, and I assume you will, do tell him that there will be a higher position at his agency available for filling starting tomorrow. I suspect he may do very well should he apply for it." Jamie's eyebrows went up in confusion as looked at Mycroft like he'd just spoken gibberish to her.

"Yeah, alright." She nodded. "Thanks, I guess." She turned and continued down the hallways muttering to herself. "Freaking weirdo can't talk like a human." Anthea smirked at Mycroft and shook her head.

Author's Note: Well, that was my biggest chapter since my operation. What do we think? Alright? As an interesting note, I named James' boss after Richter Belmont from the Castelvania series. No particular reason why, because I can. He's not even a character I know well, I was just feeling… Halloween-ish still, I guess. Time to thank the guests who I can't thank personally. Thanks to; Corrine, Guest, III, Wink, ovejalucifer, and Wheezzy8. Thanks to everyone for the wonderful support. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.